


Stalker, Artist, Same Difference

by SnowWhiteKnight



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, F/M, Show!Shae
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-07 21:32:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13443825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowWhiteKnight/pseuds/SnowWhiteKnight
Summary: Sansa takes up drawing to pass the time.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this](https://nostalgicgirl99.tumblr.com/post/165807292467/sansan-red-keep-prompt-stalker-sansa-while): SanSan Red Keep Prompt- STALKER SANSA : While being forced to stay confined in her room in The Red Keep, she decides to take up drawing . She decides to draw the Seven Gods but becomes stuck on how to draw the stranger , she realises she needs a muse. While Sandor guards her room she realises he's the perfect muse. This quickly turns into an obsession to watch Sandor. When she is allowed out of her room , she uses all her free time observing Sandor, all the while thinking Sandor was oblivious to her new found hobby , little did she know……
> 
> I changed it a little though. Didn't mean to, but it happened before I realized it. :/

“Sit down. You pace too much,” Shae complained. Sansa looked over at the petite woman. She was the worst handmaiden, sitting in Sansa’s chair, incorrectly at that, lounging in it like a lady of leisure. Not that Sansa was going to correct her at the moment.

“I'm restless, and I don't know what the king will demand of me today. It is not a pleasant, nor a calming feeling, and I have nothing to take my mind off of it ever since the king took away my embroidery.” Joffrey had remarked that if she couldn’t show her loyalty in her hobby, she would have no hobby at all. Meryn Trant had shown the king an old direwolf sample she had done before King Robert had passed, claiming that Sansa was still a traitor. She had refused to cry out as Trant was allow to punch her repeatedly in the stomach. The frustration in his eyes was worth the pain.  _ You are too weak to break me. I am a Stark. I will be strong. _

“Hmmm…” Shae said, thinking. “Perhaps…” 

“Perhaps what?” Sansa couldn't help but be curious. 

Shae jumped up. “I will be right back!”

“Where are you going?” Sansa asked, but Shae merely winked at her and left the room.

**********

Shae did not return until lunch was well underway. Being confined to her room had the advantage of not suffering the company of Joffrey or Cersei, though Sansa did miss Tommen. Myrcella as well, but since the princess was in Dorne, there was no helping that.

“Here! I bring you this,” Shae said, presenting Sansa with a set of charcoal sticks and a stack of parchments.

“And this is…?”

“You can draw! It is great past time, I am told.” Shae was smiling so broadly, that Sansa couldn’t bear to say she wasn’t very interested in drawing. 

“I suppose… I could give it a try,” she said, taking a look at the present. “I wouldn’t know what to draw…”

Shae shrugged. “Something that the king would not call you traitor for.” Sansa had to agree with that.

**********

“What’s that?” the Hound asked when he came to retrieve her for court. Sansa looked down at her drawings. She had been working on one when Shae had let him into the room.

“The Crone,” she answered. After much decision, Sansa had decided that the safest subject of her drawings was the Seven. That and landscapes, but she didn’t have much time allowed to her for that, and she could only draw her room so many times, even with different angles. If she never drew another brick wall, it would be too soon.

The Hound snorted. “Looks like one of those old, long eared hunting dogs.”

Sansa grimaced. She had to admit, her portrait skills were poor. “I have not dedicated much time to my drawing skills, outside of dress designs,” she told him. “I will get better. Eventually.”

He raised an eyebrow at that. “You’d have to. Keep practicing then, little bird.”


	2. Chapter 2

Cersei found it the height of amusement that Sansa had taken up drawing. “I suppose it would be dull without your little needle, or your betrothal to the king,” she commented, taking a sip of her wine as she looked through the drawings.

_ Or my family, _ Sansa thought bitterly.

“These are _terrible.”_ Sansa sighed. She was well aware of how bad they were. Shae and the Hound had pointed that out, though they were just stating facts, while Cersei sounded positively giddy about it.

“I am just learning, your grace,” Sansa said softly, keeping her eyes down. “I hope to improve with time and practice.”

“Well, let’s hope that happens sooner rather than later. Maybe you can do my portrait one day.” The smirk on Cersei’s face told Sansa she very much doubted it would ever come to pass.

“I fear I will never be talented enough to capture your beauty, your grace, but I will aim to be given such an honor.” 

Pleased by Sansa’s words and amused with her own jests, Cersei allowed her to have as much drawing supplies as she needed.

**********

“You’re getting better,” the Hound commented. He had changed in the months since the Battle of the Blackwater. He drank much less now, for one, and was often at her side as a guard. Sansa was sure he was being punished by the king, since it was said the Hound spoke harshly to him before abandoning him in the field. It was also said the Hound had drunk himself into a stupor to escape the battle, but Sansa had known better. He had stayed with her that night, guarding her door from the inside. She had felt safer with him sitting there, blocking any entrance with his very body, than she had with the rest of the Kingsguard. He had left in the morning, mumbling an apology for "what he did." He was not specific, but she knew what he was referring to. 

Sansa didn’t turn around. “Thank you, se-- Thank you. I do not have much else to do, so I sketch.” She was sitting in the gardens, watching Lady Margaery and her cousins play a game. The royal painter had advised her to practice posture and poses with stick drawings, so she was trying to capture movements. During the long hours of court, Sansa would practice faces by studying and sketching the people around her. She used these sketches toward her series of the Seven. Shae had brought her a book about artistry, though she was suspiciously quiet about where she got it from. 

According to the book, many artists worked towards an end goal of a masterpiece project. Sansa had commented to Shae that her goal was to simply keep her mind from Joffrey’s atrocities and not be beheaded. “A good goal,” Shae had replied, “but why not try for a masterpiece? With your skills, it will take a long, long time, I think, so you have a good divergence from the king.”

“You mean ‘a good distraction’, not divergence,” Sansa had told her. “Though I see what you mean.”

“You can call me Clegane,” he said, bringing her back from her thoughts.

_ He must have noticed I almost called him ‘ser’. _

“Still drawing the Seven?” he asked. He loomed over her as he peeked at her drawings. She found she didn't mind as much as she would have previously.

“Yes. I am working on the Maiden.” She gestured to Lady Margaery. “She is a good model for her.”

“But not a good embodiment,” he said with a sneer directed at the lady. “She is not as good and chaste as the Maiden should be.”

Sansa tried to not smile. She had heard the same rumors. “Then who would you suggest? Surely there is no one who can truly be the embodiment of the Maiden.” The man said nothing to that, making Sansa believe herself correct.


	3. Chapter 3

“A fair portrayal,” Clegane said. Sansa looked up at him. She was sitting on a balcony, watching the women parade themselves around Cersei, trying to gain her favor. One of them, a motherly looking woman, was the current object of Sansa’s study. “Despite her appalling lack of any motherly instincts.”

Sansa chuckled. “Thank you.” She remembered how the woman had pushed her out of the way the day of the Bread Riot. She hadn’t been the only one, but she had been the most vicious. 

"Her eyes aren't beady enough, though."

**********

“I assume that is supposed to be the Father?” Clegane asked. “Because it looks like  _ your _ father.”

Sansa stared him, startled, then at her drawing. She hadn’t noticed until he pointed it out. There was no one except Clegane for her to study at the moment, and he would likely not be willing to be a subject, nor did he feel very fatherly towards her. He was… something else. Regarding her current sketch, however, she could only say, “I… um… that is… It's not…"  

“Change the hairline. And the nose.” 

“Oh… Oh! I… I can add… more whiskers? My traitorous father kept his tidy and short.”

“No. Get rid of them. And your father was no traitor.” Clegane rubbed at the charcoal, attempting to erase but he only smudged it. “Bugger…”

Sansa laughed, feeling lighter than she had just moments before. “It’s alright. I can start over. This isn’t the final piece.” She crumpled up the parchment and threw it into the fireplace. “It was just practice.”

**********

“Who you got as the Smith?”

Sansa took a deep breath, wiping the tears from her face. “A man was brought to the castle today. A blacksmith. He stood for hours, waiting to speak to Lord Tywin. More than enough time to sketch him. Shae told me… He’s going to melt down Ice. Reform it. Claim it for the Lannisters. It’s not his fault, of course. He doesn’t know… He’s a master at his craft, best in King’s Landing. Who better than he to… to…” 

Clegane touched her shoulder. A sob escaped Sansa. “There now, little bird,” he said, his voice low as he helped her to her feet, embracing her. “It will be alright.” 

**********

“Will you stand in for the Warrior?” she finally was able to ask after days of struggling with the request.

“No,” he grunted. Her heart sank, but she had expected that answer.

“Why not?” She tilted her head at him.

“I’m a butcher, not a warrior. The Tyrell boy, the pretty one. He’s a warrior, a knight. Straight from a song.” Sansa looked to where he was looking. Loras Tyrell was indeed a good candidate though he was on the small side in Sansas’ opinion. 

**********

“Who's next on that list of gods?” Clegane asked. 

Sansa frowned. “The Stranger.”

“There a problem with that?” 

“Well, yes, actually. With the other six, Maiden, Mother, Crone, Father, Warrior, Smith, I had a general sense of where to start but the Stranger… how can I possibly know about him? He is the most feared  _ and _ the most mysterious of all seven aspects.”

“You'll figure something out.” 

Sansa wished she felt as confident as Clegane sounded.


	4. Chapter 4

A sennight had passed and still Sansa had no idea how to start on the last of the gods. Her feeble attempts of a cloaked figure were boring and uninspired. She tried to distract herself by drawing the other gods again and again. It almost worked, and she did improve a significant amount considering the amount of time she devoted to it, but she still couldn't think of a good place to start for the most feared god of all. 

**********

The night was alight with a green, sickly glow. Sansa was trapped, bound to her bed with invisible bonds. “Please…” she whispered. “Please don't do this…”

The man cackled and climbed on top of her. He leaned in close, his sour breath clouding over her face, suffocating her, “You ever been  _ fucked, _ little girl?” 

She screamed, but that only made him laugh harder as he tore at her clothing, hit her with the flat of a blade on her front and back, and waved her father's rotten, tarred head around. The laughter, oh gods help her,  _ the laughter! _

Suddenly, the man was gone. She opened her eyes and she saw. He was not gone, but had been pulled off of her, was being held aloft by a cloaked figure.  _ The Stranger! _ A long sword blade pierced the man through and he gurgled, then went limp. 

“You…” she whispered. The cloaked figure turned to her. “You are the Stranger, are you not?”

“I am,” he rasped. 

“Are you going to kill me, too?” She almost didn't want to know. 

The figure tilted its head. “I do not kill. I do not pardon. When it is the hour of death, I cannot be escaped. Your time, Sansa Stark, is not today. His was. Farewell.”

The figure turned to leave. 

“Wait!” She reached out and grabbed the Stranger’s cloak, pulling on it. The hood fell back as the Stranger looked at her. 

“Yes?”

She couldn't help but stare. It was Clegane!

“I… I…”

“My lady!” Shae said, startling Sansa awake. She looked around her room. “Are you alright?”

“Yes… I’m fine…”

Shae sighed in relief. “You were screaming. Like someone was killing you. Then you went so still, I thought you had  _ died.” _

“No… I’m… I’m fine. I just… it was a bad dream, or not… it gave me inspiration. Please, go get me my breakfast, and then I will dress and start my drawing.”

“So early? Would you not like to take a walk--”

“No, no walk. I must… I must start drawing. I think… I’ll start while I wait for food.” Sansa got up from her bed in a daze and sat at the small table she had begun using for her drawing. Shae mumbled something about crazy nobles and left. Sansa’s charcoal flew across the parchment in light, quick strokes. “He’s perfect for it, isn’t he? He’s exactly the right inspiration…” she said, talking quietly to herself.

**********

It wasn’t right. Sansa frowned at her vast attempts, many of which had been balled up in frustration and chucked into the fire. None of them were right. There was always something off, something unseemly. The rest of them, she could draw the gods in her sleep, but the Stranger, drawing Clegane, it escaped her.

“Such a mess,” Shae commented, picking up the parchments. “The Hound is your muse for the death one? Seems right. He’s evil enough.”

“Neither Clegane nor the Stranger are  _ evil,” _ Sansa said, collapsing in her chair. “People fear him because they don’t know him.”

“You speak of the man or the god?”

Sansa thought about it. “Both, I suppose. It is accurate either way.”

“Hmph. One might think you are drawn to both the way you speak of them. And all these drawings… better not let the stupid Kingsguard men find these. Maybe even pick a different muse.”

Sansa grimaced. There was no way she could ever find a better inspiration than Clegane.

**********

“What are you doing, girl?” Clegane asked, peeking around the corner to where Sansa was hiding. 

Sansa froze, her eyes going wide. She hadn’t thought she’d be caught. She had finally found a good view of him  _ and _ was out of sight from the rest of the people. She had only gotten one sketch done before he had sniffed her out. “I… I was just… Isn’t that Lady Margaery waving me over? I should go speak to her.” She held her sketches close to her chest as she scampered off.

**********

_ Oh! Move a little to the side, please?? _ Sansa thought, peeking through the keyhole of her door. Clegane’s head was  _ just _ out of sight, but she had an excellent view of his elbow and upper arm.  _ Oh, please, just a little to the right and forward… _ she thought.  _ Please, please please! _ She heard him sigh and he turned to look down the hallway, then moved just enough for his head to come into view and for her to get a good look at his profile.  _ Thank you! _ She started sketching frantically, like mad woman.

**********

It was night. Clegane wasn't watching her door so she had been able to sneak out and follow him. Shae had provided her with a good disguise, though she chided Sansa on the wisdom of following the most deadly man in all the Seven Kingdoms around in the dark.

"There will be candles lit," Sansa had protested. Shae had given her a look, but said nothing more.

There wasn't much time to actually sketch him, but she studied his face, memorizing the lines, of how he moved. He stopped often, though he never looked around for more than a few seconds, and seemed to be merely deep in thought.

**********

"Not that I mind this outing," Shae whispered, peeking through the slates of the wall, "but is this not something that is frowned upon for nobles?"

Sansa blushed. "Well, yes, but…" It was very difficult to see his frame in all his armor, and she just couldn't  _ ask _ him to disrobe for her so that she could study the way his skin moved over his muscles, or how his sweat glistened in the light. "I just need to study him for a little while," she finally said. She had her sketching supplies with her, though she wondered if she would have enough room to sit comfortably.

"Uh-huh." Shae looked at her with a burrowing glare, but Sansa made an effort to ignore it. "This seems like very much to do, just for a drawing of your dark god. I do not remember you going to this much effort for the war one, or the family ones." They had watched Clegane in the training yard for hours, before following him up to the bathing area. Shae knew of a secret passage that allowed them to spy on the occupants. If only they could find the one she needed to spy on! 

"Yes, well… I have gained much experience and for the Stranger, I will do what I deem necessary." She felt she should be embarrassed to see the flesh of the other men, but it registered nothing for her. They might as well have been clothed twice over. 

"I see…" Shae said. "As you say, my lady. Oh, look, there's your ugly, dark god." 

Sansa turned her head so fast, she heard a small  _ snap _ in her neck as a joint popped. She was transfixed as she watched Clegane, her face becoming warm as she stood there. Shae sighed in the background and muttered something about coming back for her later before wandering off.

**********

_ This is madness! _ Sansa thought, but that didn't prevent her from leaving, or alerting Clegane to her presence. She was hiding in the available wardrobe, behind Clegane's tunics and breeches. When she was sure that he was asleep, she crept out of the wardrobe and quietly pulled a stool up next to the side of his bed. There was just enough light from the torches outside to illuminate him. Hours went by, as she just sat and watched him sleep, only leaving when the pink rays of dawn began to make their presence known.


	5. Chapter 5

"You have become quite talented, little dove," Cersei said in genuine surprise. Sansa's drawings had been confiscated while she had thought herself safe in the godswood. Ser Boros had come to collect her as she walked back to her room, Clegane only a few paces behind her. The two men now stood at the door as the queen held Sansa's drawings hostage. Her heartbeat increased a little each time the queen picked up the next sketch, going deeper and deeper into the alarmingly large pile of parchments. She hadn't realized how much she had been drawing until she saw the evidence in front of her. Her drawings of Clegane were at the bottom, and each slow perusal by the queen was a slowly digging dagger to Sansa.

"Thank you, your grace. I find the study of my subjects to be quite calming and a good focus for my energy."

"And these people… they know you study them?"

"I try to not interrupt them, your grace. These drawings are for my own distraction, I wouldn't want to make others uncomfortable for such a mundane reason." Sansa wiped her sweating hands against the skirt of her too tight dress as discreetly as possible. Cersei made a noncommittal noise as she kept looking through the sketches, drawing closer and closer to the ones of Clegane. 

"Oh! Oh, my…" Cersei said, tittering loudly. "This is just… This is too perfect! Hound! Come here." 

Clegane walked over to the queen's side. "Your grace?"

"This is just marvelous! She really captured your blood thirsty essence," Cersei said, smiling at Sansa while she held up the drawing for Clegane. Sansa gripped her skirt hard enough that she thought she might have torn through it.

"Hmm," Clegane said, taking the parchment from Cersei. "Suppose so." He handed it back and returned to his post without changing his stoic demeanor. Cersei looked disappointed, but Sansa could only breathe a sigh of relief.

**********

"I apologize, Clegane," she said softly as he walked her back to her room.

"Not insulted, girl," he said gruffly. "Makes sense when--"

"No, I mean, I apologize for sketching you without permission. I just…" She stopped in the middle of the walkway. No one else was around, allowing Sansa to speak freely. "I dreamt of you."

He gave her a confused look.

"It was a mixture of events, but… I dreamt that you were the Stranger, and when I awoke, it just… it made so much sense. It was as you said, you are not a warrior, a knight, but at the same time, you are not a butcher either."

He snorted.

"Hear me out, please," she said meekly. He sighed wearily and leaned against the available wall. "You do what you do because you have to."

"I enjoy the killing, girl," he said, though he no longer had that same heat behind it as he once had. "Just as--"

_ "Please," _ she said, "Let me finish." He was startled by her insistence, but nodded. "I've been watching you, for the drawings and…" She bit her lip. Truthfully, she had been watching him for far longer than her sketches gave her an excuse for. "I've just been very aware of you and I've noticed that… you are different now. Yes, you enjoyed the killing…  _ before. _ Now, however, it has become… I suppose you are bored with it. It is simply something you must do. I don't know what changed, but something did. And it made you the perfect subject for my art."

He remained silent.

"So," she continued, feeling uncomfortable. "Again, I apologize for intruding on you, drawing you, without your permission." Still he said nothing. Sansa stood there for a few moments more, the awkward feeling in the air becoming unbearable, before turning on her heel and resuming her walk back to her room.

**********

Joffrey was dead, poisoned a substance known as the Strangler at his own wedding. Ser Dontos was dead as well, shot by three crossbow bolts at the order of Petyr Baelish. Most surprisingly, Petyr was the third dead man that day. His throat slit by Clegane from behind, then thrown into the boat with Dontos and burned. She was given the best cabin on the ship, after Baelish's things distributed to the crew, anything they didn't want was thrown overboard. Clegane took the second best, which was the perfect spot to protect his new charge.

"How… How did you know?" she asked him once they had set sail. They were below deck, seated across a table from each other in her cabin, per Clegane's orders. He didn't want to give anyone the chance to spot her or figure out who she was.

"I watched you like a hawk. Wasn't hard to figure out. Plus, Dontos is shit at being secretive." He sighed and took a long drink from his waterskin. "The real dilemma was replacing the ones loyal to Baelish. Lothor Brune… he's an old ally of mine. He had no love for Baelish, just his coin. I gave him everything I found of Baelish's that was worth anything. He helped me weed out the rest."

"Oh…" An uncomfortable silence fell between them. "I finished my Portrait of the Seven." It had turned out rather well in her opinion. Shae had agreed with her.

"Did you now?"

"Yes… If only I had known I was to leave today… unless Baelish thought to bring pack it with my things, it's likely still in my room." She sighed, feeling anxious. Her fingers were itching to draw, if only to rid herself of her nervous energy. "Where are we going?"

"Riverrun. Your brother and mother are said to be there. This ship… It's yours now, little bird. The captain is at your command."

"And you?" she asked before she could stop herself.

"I am at your command, too. Your loyal dog."

She frowned. "You're not a dog. You are a man. If you are to remain with me, then I would prefer that you not refer to yourself as such."

The corner of his mouth twitched, something she had come to recognize as him trying to not smile. "Is that an order, my lady?"

He was teasing her. Well, two can play at that game. "It is,  _ ser." _

He snorted. "Not a ser, little bird."

"And I am not your lady." He raised an eyebrow at her. "I am your… I am Sansa. Or little bird. Either is suitable." She turned away so that he could not see her reddening cheeks. 

"Very well. Sansa."

She forced herself to calm down. "I have… um, one last question, if you don't mind."

"If I do, I won't answer it."

She sighed. "I suppose that's fair. I was just wondering… why did you save me? Why take on that bother?"

He was silent for so long, she thought it must have been a question that he minded answering.

"Would you like to--"

"It wasn't a bother," he said. Her eyebrows went up.

"Pardon?"

"Helping you," he clarified. "It wasn't a bother. I… That night, on the Blackwater… I was… I was scared. You know why." She nodded. "You never told anyone, even though you could have. Could have ruined me in court… I… I appreciated that. You're a soft touch," he said with a dark chuckle. 

"You did threaten to kill me if I did," she reminded him gently. "Though it was unnecessary. I would not have told." 

"Did I? Can't remember that, but if you say I did, it's likely true." He looked out the porthole. "I do a lot of things while drunk that I should end up regretting. I usually don't. Not until you, anyway."

Sansa looked at him in surprise. He was still looking out the porthole and didn't notice.

"When I went to your room… held the knife to your throat…" He was struggling to say it, but he forced the words out. "And then you sang for me… Not the way I had intended, but sang  _ for _ me. You sang a  _ prayer. _ I regretted so much in that moment. Not the prayer. Everything else. No one else, not since my mother, has ever done that for me. When you asked who else could be the embodiment of the Maiden, I wanted to tell you… It was you. You could be the embodiment of the Maiden. You are… too good for this world. Especially too good for that pit of vipers in King's Landing. I have done terrible things, things that would make you cry and lament your woes if you knew of them, things that  _ have _ made you cry, and be disgusted, but I am good at what I do, and that is to protect at all costs. In that sense, I truly am like a dog. I am given a mission, and I will die to fulfill it. If there was ever a master worthy of my sword… of giving my life to, it is you, little bird."

He looked uncomfortable.

"I am honored by your words, Clegane," she said softly. He relaxed, and finally turned back to face her. "I would be upset if you died for me, however, so I hope you will try your best to keep your life, if only so I will not have to miss you."

"You would miss me?" He seemed amused.

"Terribly. And I know you can tell when I'm lying, so you know that I mean it."

"Then I'll try my best to not disappoint you," he said, a small but genuine smile gracing his lips. "I would like to add, I am honored as well. By you choosing me as a subject for the Stranger, though… your portrayals were more like portraits of myself than of the Stranger. Amusing, since you always snuck around to do your sketches. Surprised you could get that much done…especially that time through a keyhole."

Her cheeks burned. "You  _ knew?" _

He nodded. "You were talking to yourself. I just… obliged."

"Why didn't you  _ say _ something??"

He shrugged. "You seemed to be having fun. And I found it amusing."

"I've never been so embarrassed…" 

"I would be more embarrassed by the times you peeked on me in my bath."

Sansa sank off her chair to the floor, sure that she would never be able to face him again, which was fine because her face was about to melt off from burning so much. "Oh gods…" 

He got up and rounded the table to kneel beside her. "Or all the times you followed me around the Keep at night? Had to stop often to make sure you weren't being followed as well." Sansa grabbed the lap blanket that was hanging nearby and covered her head with it. "I think my favorite times were when you hid in my room just so you could watch me sleep."

_ "How?!" _ she squeaked. "How did you know?!"

He sat next to her and pulled her onto his lap. Her heart was beating rapidly, but his calm demeanor helped. "I just knew. I am very aware of your presence." 

She pulled the blanket farther down on her face. What did  _ that _ mean? Flustered, she decided to change the subject and asked, "How are you doing? Joffrey… You were with him for so long…" 

She felt him shrug. "He wasn't always terrible, but that was a long time ago. He was lost long before you met him."

"Will you stay with me?" she asked suddenly. "Here, in this cabin? There's more than enough room, and there's two beds in here…" 

"Wouldn't do to have the notorious Hound stay in your cabin. The crew may not know who you are, but they'll talk. Won't be hard for people to put two and two together."

"I don't care. We can… Oh, we'll tell them you're my husband, and that Baelish was trying to steal me. Makes sense on why you killed him… 

"I suppose…" 

"I just… You make me feel better, just being around you makes me feel better. Safer. Like maybe for once, things might go well. And… since you  _ know… _ I would  _ really _ like to take some time to have you sit for my drawings. Do you know how hard it is to draw a moving object? Extremely."

He sighed. "Well, if you put it that way…" he said with a resigned chuckle.


End file.
